


Come December, I Remember

by therumjournals



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therumjournals/pseuds/therumjournals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk heads to his family’s cabin to try to recapture some Christmas memories…and maybe make some new ones along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come December, I Remember

The happiest moments of Jim’s childhood smelled like pine and woodsmoke and something else that made his nose wrinkle. They tasted of chocolate and peppermint and sounded like laughter, and they looked….golden.

They were a year into their mission, a year out of the Academy, out of simulations and into the reality of the unknown, a year into the combination of fear and pride that still tingled in his spine whenever someone called him “Captain Kirk.” A year into realizing that the rush of heat in his belly was not merely an exhilarated response to successful command decisions, but to the person he was making them with…and four days into trying to find out whether Spock ever felt it, too.

Jim dreamed of the golden light, of the smell of pine, and of warmth that was all the more satisfying knowing that the air outside was biting cold. He awoke with his heart racing, with a giddy anticipation reminiscent of Christmas mornings past. And he let that feeling carry him through the ship’s day, until he was standing in Spock’s quarters, reaching cautious fingers out to touch, not gaily-colored wrapping paper but Science blues over warm skin. Hesitant to look up, to meet Spock’s curious, detached gaze, he instead took a step forward, through air that seemed to crackle with energy, and he pressed his lips to Spock’s for a long moment.

When he pulled back, he made himself look into Spock’s warm brown eyes and ask, “What do you think about that?”

Spock didn’t look away as his lips parted, and his voice was a husky whisper as he answered. “I do not know.”

Jim twisted his expression into a rueful grin and backed away a few steps. “Well, you, uh…you think about it then,” he said, and he turned to make his exit, head held high, until the door slid closed behind him and his heart stuttered and sank.

He packed his bag that night, no point in waiting now, and when the Enterprise pulled into spacedock the next day, he left it in Starfleet’s capable hands, signed out, and hauled ass to Iowa. Not to home – that wasn’t where the memories were - but to the family cabin a few hours away. Maybe there was something he could recapture there. Maybe, if his head was full of memories, he could forget…

Or not. Halfway through the hovercab ride, and he was still thinking about that damn kiss. The memory made his skin itch, and he shifted in his seat. He pressed his forehead to the cool window and tried to ignore the feeling that he’d forgotten something.

Which, in a way, he had. After all, he’d intended to bring Spock along on this trip, to spend this fortuitously timed shore leave holed up in the cabin together, to make new memories - of Spock drinking hot chocolate and laughing, of bare skin bathed in the golden glow that he could see so clearly in his mind’s eye.

Okay, maybe the laughing idea had been a bit far-fetched.

Or maybe all of it was, since here he was on his way to the cabin alone, with Spock back on the Enterprise doing god knows what. Something science-y, Jim supposed. And probably not giving a second thought to Jim’s advances, since as far as he could tell, the kiss had gone completely ignored, the next twenty-four hours business as usual. Jim’s imagined night of passion with his first officer and subsequent invitation to a cozy romantic retreat had been relegated to a fantasy, a memory that was not to be.

The cab slowed to a stop, hovering a few feet over a pristine expanse of snow in front of the quaint log cabin. Jim grinned and exited the cab, inhaling sharply as the air hit him, cold and crisp and…fucking _cold_. He crunched eagerly across the lawn and up onto the creaky wooden porch, stomping the snow off his boots and barely noticing as the hovercab whirred away.

The door lock was manual, and Jim fumbled the old-fashioned key in his mitten-clad hands before he managed to get the door open. He closed his eyes, savoring the anticipation. But when he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, his heart plummeted. Far from being flooded with warm, golden light, the cabin was dim and gray with dust. It wasn’t as though he’d expected a crackling fire, but still, he hadn’t imagined it would still be so _cold_ , his breath visible in front of him even after the door was closed. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered.

Jim set his bag down and stared at it for a moment. His PADD and communicator were in the side pocket, and the words “Beam me up, Scotty,” flitted through his head… He shook off the thought. No, this was fine, everything would be fine, he’d get some firewood and he’d do a little dusting, and he’d be fine. He pulled one of his gloves off with his teeth and put it immediately back on because _Christ_ it was cold! Firewood first, then. He turned back for the door and jumped a foot in the air as something scurried across the floor in front of him. The air was cloudy with his startled, frantic breaths and he pressed a hand to his wildly racing heart. Okay, that was it, he was out of here. He reached for the PADD just as a light blinked on to indicate an incoming communication.

“Captain.” Jim hit a button and Spock’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey Spock!” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage, clenching his jaw to still his chattering teeth.

“I assume you have successfully arrived at your family cabin?”

“Yep! Successfully…here,” Jim said, glancing toward the corner, where it seemed that the sideboard was now a thriving rodent co-op.

He looked back at Spock, holding the PADD close so he couldn’t get a look past Jim into the dilapidated interior.

“Are you well, Jim? You appear somewhat…blue.”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “I’m _fine_ , Spock. And since when do you use colloquialisms, anyway?”

“No, I mean…your lips are beginning to turn a shade of blue.”

Jim raised a mittened hand to his admittedly freezing lips. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a little cold here. Not too bad, though.”

“My readings show that the temperature in your location is negative 17 point 2 repeating degrees Celsius.”

“Your read-“ Jim turned the PADD around and upside down, checking to see if Spock had put some kind of tracking device on it. He pulled it back to his face. “How did you know that?” he demanded.

“I placed a tracking device in your boot prior to your departure.”

“In my…you really don’t trust me to take care of myself, do you Spock?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim rolled his eyes, but when he looked back at the PADD, Spock’s face had softened. “Jim, perhaps you should return ho- to the Enterprise.” Jim wanted to read into that statement, he really did. But the fact of it was, he’d probably just end up helping Spock with some tedious experiment, spending the holidays surrounded by recycled air and the hum of artificial lights and-

“I appreciate your concern, really. I’ll be fine. I’m having fun. Or, you know. I will be.”

“Very well. Spock out.” The screen went blank, and Jim let the forced cheerfulness fall from his face as he fell into the nearest chair. A puff of dust flew up from the cushion around him. He sneezed twice, ran his hands over his face, and tried not to think about how big an idiot he was.

Eventually, he made himself get up and move around the cabin, examining the little that there was to see. The pantry shelves were empty, the kitchen cabinets full of dusty, cracked plates. There was a kettle on a useless stove, and he thought idly about heating up some water in the fireplace, but when he turned the faucet over the sink, he heard a disturbing gurgling sound coming from somewhere in the depths of the plumbing. He turned it off immediately and backed away.

He knew where he had to go next, but he almost wanted to put it off for a little longer, scared of what he’d see. Without a Christmas tree, without gifts or toys strewn about the floor, he knew the living room would look nothing like it did in his memory, and he was terrified that he’d find a mouldering couch or a broken window or something else that would mean he could never reclaim what he’d come to find. But when he finally got up the courage to cross the cabin and step into the room, he breathed a sigh of relief to find it intact. Bare, sure, and as gray as the rest of the cabin, but the couch still looked comfy, and the fireplace looked like it could handle an actual fire without burning the place down. That was the next step, then, but when Jim looked out the window all he could see was a wall of white, a blanket of snow falling unceasingly through the sky. He took a moment to wonder if he could get Scotty to beam him some wood, anything to avoid going out into that mess - then a low cabinet in the corner caught his eye. He knelt in front of it and tried the panel door – locked. A sharp tug did the trick, and he reached inside, shaking his head.

“Thank you, Frank.” Mom would have flipped her shit if she’d known about the stash, but now, years later, Jim could only be thankful for the full bottle of whiskey that he now held in his hand. He didn’t even bother moving to the couch, just propped himself up against the wall, pulled his jacket a little more tightly around him, and took a long, warming sip.

Thirty minutes later, Jim was in the same place, only a little drunker, a little colder, and feeling a little sorrier for himself. He wished to hell for a roaring fire. For one thing, it was getting dark. For another, he’d apparently underestimated the warming properties of whiskey, and while each sip burned a little going down, he was pretty sure he’d lost all feeling in his toes. Which made it difficult to consider standing and making his way up the stairs, although he was pretty sure there were blankets up there, or at least there had been once, in a trunk at the foot of a four-poster bed. He took another long swig, then set the bottle down and lifted his foot up, tapping at the bottom of his boot, where he thought Spock’s tracker might be. “Hello? Hello, is this thing on? Spock? Are you there? I’m cold. I’m, like, negative one million point 2 repeating degrees down here.” He laughed a little manically and let his head fall back against the wall. His hand landed on the neck of the bottle and he picked it up for one last, long swig before he closed eyes.

He dreamed of golden light, of a sunbeam that warmed him to his core, dancing across his skin until it burned, and he woke up stifling, surrounded by an unworldly, living heat.

“Mmf, what-“ he started, flailing his arms and legs because he was being smothered and he had to get out and –

“Jim.”

He opened his eyes to find Spock looking at him in the darkness.

“Spock? What are you- What the fuck is that smell?” Jim curled his lip as the stench of mothballs filled his nostrils. “Ugh.”

“Something is wrong with the blankets,” Spock told him, and he realized that yes, he was under a blanket, more than one if the weight across his tingling limbs was any indication. And Spock was under the blankets with him. That was interesting.

Jim laughed. “Nothing’s wrong with them. They’re just…old.”

“They smell unpleasant.”

“Spock, you’re in my bed. In bed with me. We’re in a bed together.” His mind was foggy with whiskey and heat and Spock.

“You were cold. It was logical for us to combine our body heat by lying together in close proximity.”

“I fuckin’ love logic,” Jim mumbled. He scooted his head forward on the pillow and dropped his voice to a whisper. “My lips are cold.”

Spock leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Jim’s, and Jim felt his adrenaline spike as he closed his eyes to bask in the dry, lingering kiss.

“Holy shit, that worked,” he said in awe when Spock pulled away.

“You have been drinking,” Spock said.

“Copiously,” Jim agreed.

“Are you…compromised?”

Jim swallowed and let his eyes flick down to Spock’s mouth. “I’m in full possession of my faculties,” he assured him, before sliding forward to take _full possession_ of Spock’s lips.

Spock returned the kiss hungrily, pressing his tongue into Jim’s willing mouth, and Jim whimpered at the unexpected intensity. Their hands moved across each other, legs slotting together with the unspoken agreement that no parts of their bodies should not be touching. Jim felt Spock’s fingers slipping beneath his waistband, and he gargled out an affirmative response and smashed his mouth against Spock’s again. He groped around over the blankets until he managed to pull them up over their heads, sealing them in a cave of heat and lust and –

“Fuck,” Jim gasped, pulling abruptly out of the kiss and yanking the blankets down, coughing. “Oh god, these blankets smell disgusting. Uurgh.” He gagged attractively against Spock’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

Spock’s face was still but Jim could see his throat working to repress what was probably some kind of Vulcan vomit reflex. “I agree,” he managed, after he had composed himself. “They are overwhelmingly...revolting.”

Those were strong words coming from Spock, and Jim was pretty sure the mood had been ruined. But Spock leaned forward, pressed his nose into the crook of Jim’s neck, and breathed in deeply.

“Spock, are you…are you _smelling_ me?”

Spock nodded against his skin. “Your scent is…infinitely more pleasant,” he said, the low rumble of his voice going straight to Jim’s cock. Jim felt Spock’s fingers flex against him, pressing down further beneath his boxers, sliding over his ass, clutching at him.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim gasped, and then their mouths were on each other again, and there was no more talking, just a strong fist wrapping around his sweat-slick cock, and the length of Spock’s erection against his thigh. The air was filled with their panting grunts of pleasure, and as Spock rutted against his leg, Jim forgot about the cold, forgot about the cabin and the memories that he’d hoped to relive, forgot about everything but the white hot pleasure curling up his spine.

“Spock, I’m gonna…guh…”

“Yes, Jim,” Spock whispered desperately in his ear, fingers squeezing, sliding, pulling him closer. Jim felt Spock’s tongue flick distractedly against the corner of his mouth, and he came, spurting over Spock’s hand, moaning as he pressed his face into Spock’s shoulder. He felt Spock’s pulse jump beneath his lips, felt Spock shake in his arms as he thrust frantically against Jim until he came apart.

Jim curled his hand around the back of Spock’s neck and nuzzled sleepily into his chest. There were so many things he wanted to say, questions to ask, plans that he wanted to make. In the back of his mind, he remembered that it was Christmas Eve, and yet he felt none of the eager, sleepless anticipation of his childhood. If Christmas never came, he’d be content to stay right here, with Spock’s arms tight around him, letting sleep carry him into its warm embrace.

**

“Spock?”

The blankets were still heavy, but the bed was cooler now, and Jim frowned at the empty space beside him.

He called Spock’s name a few more times before he gave up and climbed out of bed, gasping as the cold air hit his flushed skin. He wrapped his arms around his torso, shivering as he made his way down the stairs. “Spock?”

He glanced quickly around the downstairs, then looked skeptically at the front door. Spock wouldn’t have… But when he peered out the window, a set of footprints led clearly across the snow-covered field, away from the cabin.

“Well, fuck.”

Five minutes later, Jim stepped off the front porch, squinting into the sunlight that shone bright and unfiltered through the crisp, cold air and bounced up at him from the glistening snow. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders and sucked in a breath as a few cold flakes found their way into the top of his boots and slid down his bare feet. He took a deep breath and set out, trying to keep his feet within Spock’s footprints as he made his way across the field, enjoying a smug satisfaction at the ease with which his own steps matched Spock’s stride.

He wondered what could have inspired Spock to go running off into the cold morning and hoped desperately that it wasn’t something he’d done. The forest was getting closer, and Jim was starting to wonder how far from the relative warmth of the cabin he was willing to go, when he spotted the dark shape of a figure lying in the snow beneath a tree at the edge of the woods. He squinted. Was that Spock? Was he hurt? Jim picked up his pace, jogging now, and he called out Spock’s name. He just had time to catch a glimpse of the figure lifting his head, Spock’s worried expression peering out from beneath a fur-lined hood, his warning “Jim!” covered by a loud cracking sound as the pine tree above him tilted toward the ground. Jim froze in place as the tree fell, and a wall of green crashed around him. The last thing he thought before pain burst through his skull was that it suddenly smelled like Christmas.

  
Jim came awake to find himself stretched across a musty couch. He grunted, tried to lift his head, but then Spock was there, broad palms cradling his skull, dark brown eyes looking into his soul. Or something.

“Jim, do not try to move. You are concussed.”

Jim gave him a loopy grin and pressed clumsy fingers against his cheek. “Concussed for you, baby.”

Spock looked at him, considering. “Do not speak, either,” he recommended.

“Pshh,” Jim said, still grinning. “Why don’t you kiss me and make it better.”

To Jim’s slightly delirious surprise, Spock leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He pulled back, leaving his hands gently bracketing Jim’s face.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes. Spock, am I dreaming? Seriously. Am I imagining all of this? Are you really here, in this cabin, wearing that ridiculous sweater, kissing me, carrying me up to bed and jerking me off under vomit-smelling blankets?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Either I am really here, or you have an extremely vivid imagination,” he said.

Jim smirked at him. “You have no idea.”

“I am really here, Jim,” Spock said, leaning forward to set another kiss on Jim’s lips.

“But...what about what happened before, you know, on the Enterprise, with the kiss and the ‘I do not know’,” he said, imitating Spock’s tone.

“I spent time in meditation, considering the possible outcomes of becoming involved with my commanding officer, and I concluded that the arguments in favor are significantly more logical than those against.”

Jim looked pained. “Spock. Please say something romantic now.”

A flash of amusement lit Spock’s eyes and he looked thoughtful. “At any time, under any circumstance that I can imagine, I would rather be with you than not.”

“Yeah, that works,” Jim murmured, pulling him down again, this time letting his tongue slide against Spock’s lips, shock and desire pouring through him as Spock opened his mouth to return the kiss. He closed his eyes and his other senses took over, the smell of woodsmoke, the crackle of a fire, the taste of chocolate on Spock’s tongue...

He put a hand on Spock’s chest and pushed, his eyes going wide with disbelief as he glanced quickly around the room. A fire blazed in the fireplace - Jim could feel its warmth in the room now that Spock had pulled away - and in the corner stood a familiar-looking pine tree.

Jim’s mouth dropped open and he pointed at it. “You let that thing in here? That tree tried to kill me!”

Spock’s lips twitched. “I have ensured that it is no longer a threat,” he promised.

Jim struggled to sit up on the couch, but Spock pushed him back gently. “Stay still, Jim.” He reached over to the side table and handed Jim a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “I believe this is a traditional winter beverage?”

Jim closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the smell of rich chocolate filling his nose and something in his chest loosened. He opened his eyes to see Spock holding his own mug, lifting it to his lips to take a sip. Jim’s eyes widened.

“It is a myth, Jim,” Spock said, lowering the mug and clutching it with both hands.

“What is?” Jim said, injecting as much innocence into his voice as he could manage.

“That chocolate affects Vulcans in the way that alcohol affects humans. That it…intoxicates us. It does not.”

Jim tried to keep the disappointment off his face. “Oh.” He took another sip, then frowned. “How did you know all of this stuff, Spock? The tree and the fire and the hot chocolate…how did you know what I came here for?”

The hint of an expression crossed Spock’s features and Jim tried to identify it. If anything, he looked…nervous, as he stood smoothly and crossed the room, picking up an old vidframe from the mantle. He carried it back to the couch and sat down. Jim only hesitated for a second before snuggling up against his side.

Spock pressed a button on the frame, and Jim’s breath caught in his throat as a younger version of himself appeared on the screen. He must have been five, maybe six years old, and he was sitting cross-legged next to the Christmas tree, in the very same corner of the room that Spock had chosen. Jim glanced at Spock, but his eyes were glued to the screen, where little Jim held tightly to a model spaceship, zooming it in circles around his head, his tinny voice audible through the speakers, “pew pew pew!” Jim put a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. On the screen, Jim stood, barely reaching halfway up the tree, and he broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin. “Mama, I want hot chocolate!” He dropped the spaceship and ran toward the camera, his arms outstretched, and there was a crashing sound as the screen went blank. Jim blushed as Spock turned to look at him.

“I hope your mother was not injured as a result of your…enthusiasm,” Spock said.

Jim laughed and shook his head. “No. No, she loved it when I did that. I think that might have been the end of the vidcam though.” His eyes met Spock’s and his face turned serious. He spread his arms, and warmth flooded through him as Spock slid into his embrace without a second thought. “Spock, I…it means so much that you did all this for me.”

Spock inched closer, brushed his lips against Jim’s skin.

“Now,” Jim whispered, fingers plucking at them hem of Spock’s shirt, “take off this ridiculous sweater.”

In one smooth motion that had Jim laughing with delight, Spock’s shirts were off and he was pressing his bare chest against Jim, sliding his hands up to tug Jim’s shirt over his head. He mouthed at Jim’s collarbone, lips and tongue tracing across his chest, lingering over his heart. Jim hummed and arched beneath him, his fingers dancing over Spock’s smooth back. Hips pressed against hips, betraying their desire, and Spock pulled back to look down at Jim. Jim smiled up at him, taking him in, dark hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed and lips full. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat as a golden light filled the room. He gasped at the sight of Spock’s bare shoulders, glowing like warm honey, then he tore his gaze away to look toward the window. The sun had dipped just low enough to shine the late afternoon light directly into the living room, and the wood of the cabin seemed to gleam with an inner warmth. Dust motes danced in the sunbeam but not a trace of dismal gray remained.

“Jim?”

Jim shook his head as his heart flooded with emotion. “This is it, Spock,” he whispered reverently. “This is what I remember!” He glanced down the length of Spock’s body, still poised above him. “Except, you know. With fewer naked Vulcans.” He tipped his head up and Spock leaned down to rub their noses together. “And now you’re here, too,” Jim breathed, as Spock caught his lips in a kiss.

Jim closed his eyes and welcomed the playful tongue tangling with his own, the hum of desire in his veins, and another Christmas memory made to cherish.


End file.
